there was an old woman named mara

Mara lived in a small, rickety wooden cottage on the outskirts of a village, surrounded by overgrown gardens and a meandering stream.

Her life was simple, consisting of days spent tending to her flowers, brewing potions from rare herbs, and reading dusty tomes in her cluttered library.

On one particular afternoon, as she sat by the fire, she began to sort through a bundle of letters that had arrived by post, filled with invitations to a local gathering at the manor house.

One letter stood out, sealed with a strange, crimson wax and adorned with a symbol that seemed to throb with an otherworldly energy.

Deciding that an ounce of curiosity was a fine thing, Mara tucked the letter into her apron pocket and set off towards the manor house under the fading light of day.